


i know that you notice my ways

by truthhurts (cicadas)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Hair-pulling, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-12 21:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16879491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicadas/pseuds/truthhurts
Summary: Tony should have guessed it, really. The kid was intelligent, determined, polite, attractive-In hindsight, it was far too easy for this to happen. But hindsight wasn't really a bitch if he didn't regret it.





	i know that you notice my ways

**Author's Note:**

> _i know that you notice my ways,_   
>  _and i feel, i feel your gaze ___

Peter looked up from his calculus textbook every few minutes.

It was cute, the little routine he had going. Skim-read, turn the page, look up at Tony, who would always be looking the other way.

Not that he was counting. No, Peter had his tells. The way he’d brush his hair behind his ear or away for his forehead before he tilted his head up. Or would slide his finger under the next page, waiting to turn it, gathering those few seconds of courage to look up again.

And, like each time before, Tony'd be looking away.

Maybe because he was focused on reading through a stackload of files Pepper had sent him from Italy, saying it was important and could he please at least try to get past the first page? He flicked her a text saying he'd opened the first file, and she sent back a very un-Pepper thumbs up. He figured it was an instruction carried out by her secretary; "Reply to that for me, can you? Something encouraging". He had every plan to actually go through with the reading.

Then Peter came over.

 

It wasn't unusual for the kid to show up at odd hours.

Ever since the new suit - taken, then given back; truly his now - he felt more comfortable going further and further away from the centre of the city. Maybe it was the suit itself giving him confidence. Maybe it was the people around him - Happy treating him a little less like a nuisance, Tony actually listening to him, wanting to recruit him. Or maybe it was just that he was growing up. Coming into his own, and all that.

That, and he knew the kid had some kind of thing for him. He didn't know if people his age still called it a crush, but name aside, he knew what he saw. He'd seen it in fans and gala-attendee's and occasionally the rare staff member.

An innocent crush stemming from hero worship, most likely. The kid was young, headstrong, but a fanboy. He had Iron Man and Avengers posters up on his wall the first time Tony came to see him in his (albeit surprisingly young and attractive) aunt's small Queens apartment. He remembered Peter telling him he was at the Expo the night it opened - the same night Vanko nearly killed hundreds in the area covered in the Stark name.

He'd only seen Peter's crush as more than that once, in the lab. But he second-guessed it, and conveniently never thought of it again.

Until Peter looked up from his textbook for the 50th time that night, and Tony met his eyes.

They weren't tired from studying, or from being hunched over that same book in the low light for the past hour. Tony guessed he'd probably done just about as much reading as he had (Read: hardly anything).

No, he was focused. Didn't seem at all flustered at being caught staring - in fact, it seemed like that was what he wanted after all, judging by the twitch in his lips. Tony didn't know whether they were twitching to smile or forge embarrassment. He didn't read that far into it.

He needed a drink.

 

"Mr. Stark?"

The boy's voice was as small and high-pitched as ever. Needy.

Tony twisted as he stood and made his way to the 'bar', which was essentially just a left-out bottle of whiskey he hadn't put away yet, and then refused to put away after Rhodey commented on it.

He took a glass from the cabinet, uncapped the bottle, poured, and sipped.

He looked over at the round table surrounded by some very sleek white leather couches, where Peter sat on his haunches. Waiting. Like a puppy.

God, something was wrong with him tonight.

 _He's a kid,_  Stark thought to himself.  _You're his mentor, he's a kid._  He sipped again. Without ice, the taste was different, but still amazing. He was never one to go the cheap route on anything, especially liquor.

 

From the table, Peter piped up.

"Do you think I could have one of those?"

 

Tony froze with the glass against his lips. Fuck, he was a bad influence.

"Ah, don't think so, kid. Underage and all." He waved his hands around in Peter's general direction to affirm his point.

"But," Peter dragged the vowel out, slowly rising to his feet. "With the Bite, and all...it might not even affect me. I'll be 21 soon enough, anyway."

"Yeah, in six years. I don't think so, short stuff."

Tony took a bigger sip than usual. The liquor burned his throat in that oh-so-familiar way.

Peter frowned at him. He was getting closer, making his way between the couches and into the open-plan kitchenette.

"You always nickname me stuff like that."

God, he was pouting, wasn't he? Do teenagers usually pout, or is it a radioactive teen-genius exclusive?

He stepped foot in the kitchen, two feet from where Tony himself was standing.

"They're all kinda childish, don't you think?"

Peter stepped closer, and this would be when Tony usually took his own step backward, but he didn't. Cause this was Peter - he had no reason to back away from him.

Peter brought a hand up to tug at the neck of his shirt, just for a moment, revealing pale skin and a strong collarbone before the shirt sprung back up into place, and the hollow of his neck was hidden from sight. He brought that same hand along the column of his throat, fingers splaying out over it entirely, before he went higher, haphazardly sweeping them through his hair as if that was his plan all along.

Tony tore his eyes away from the dark mole on the boy's Adam's apple as soon as he realised he was  _still looking_  and gripped the glass in his fingers tighter. The glass was cool, firm. Grounding. This was just a kid in a kitchen. A protege. This was just Peter.

But he met the boy's eyes, and he knew the atmosphere had changed.

He'd  _looked_ , and Peter  _saw,_  and that pleased look was back on his face because that's what he wanted.

 

"Kid--" He began, but Peter  _laughed_ , and his sentence cut off right there.

  
"There's your favourite one: Kid. It's always kid, or short stuff, or Spider-Boy, which, by the way, Mr. Rhodes has taken to calling me all the time. I'm not a kid, Mr. Stark."

He brought his hand down to clutch at his opposite shoulder, and Tony refused to look. He was an adult; he'd endured press conferences and politicians since he was nine, he could withstand Peter fronting up to him a little. Pressing into his consciousness with the toe of his sneakers. Jesus, when did he manage to get the upper hand?

Tony shook his head, sipped his whiskey with two long gulps until the drink was finished.

He watched Peter through the bottom of the glass.

 _Send him home,_ he thought. He didn't voice that thought. 

 

 

"Pete, I respect you. You're a good...person. You're mature and intelligent and a great hero. But, you are a kid. And that means asking for alcohol is still a no-go,"

"This isn't about the alcohol-"

"You wanted to see if I'd say yes." Tony said, and Peter's jaw snapped shut.

He noticed the way it tensed. He wasn't shocked, he was _pissed_.

 

"I'm sixteen. I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

"Not about booze, kid "

"This isn't about the alcohol!" Peter's voice cracked a little on the last word, voice raised but not quite yelling.

Tony stepped forward.

"Then what's this about, hm? I thought I knew, maybe, but now you're just confusing me, kid."

"I'm not a kid,"

" _Peter_. What's up?"

He wanted to pat him on the back. The shoulder. His hands stayed where they were.

 

"I want you to take me seriously." Peter said, and Tony felt like a failure.

"Don't get me wrong, you're so good to me, Mr. Stark, and I appreciate everything, so much...But I'm not a child."

Tony sighed, putting the glass down on the bench. He knew what this was about. He had the same issues with his father - always excelling way past his age group and always being seen as 'little Tony, messing around with daddy's tools'. He worked his whole life to be taken seriously by his father, and after his death, tried to live up to his name.

"Kid," He started, then realised what he'd said. "Pete,  you're incredible. You're an amazing scientist, and I do mean that-"

"Mr. Stark-"

"No, it's true-"

"This isn't- you're not listening to me,"

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm trying to tell you I understand."

"And I'm trying to tell you I like you."

 

Peter said the words with such finality Tony almost didn't register what he was actually saying.

But he did. He heard what he heard, and Peter was still pinning him to the spot with his eyes. Brown, steady, focused.

"You're not gonna say anything?"

He knew he should. He didnt.

"Cause... cause I mean it. I'm not a kid with a crush, Mr. Stark. That's all I want you to see."

Tony hears the 'Please don't dismiss me' for what it is.

Peter's hand dropped from his shoulder and he stepped forward, reaching out as if he wanted Tony to take his hand. But instead he moved even closer, and slipped his fingers into the lapel of his blazer, pulling it a little to straighten it.

When he stopped adjusting it, his hand stayed where it was. His fingers were warm where they splayed out across his chest.

"Peter," Tony began. He wanted to stop him. Warn him, maybe. Tell him he's an old man with a lot of problems, that he'd only get hurt.

But he knew that was a lie. He would never harm a hair on Peter's head. He'd reject the Accords before he made that kid cry.

He'd never hurt him. He couldn't ever.

He could deterr him, send him home. He knew the kid would go. But he couldn't.

 

"It's okay, Mr. Stark. I won't be mad, if you don't feel the same way. I just wanted you to know." Peter said, and went to move his hand away.

Tony grabbed his wrist before he could.

"Kid..."

Peter looked up through his eyelashes, hopeful. "Yeah, Tony?"

Fuck. "Peter, we can't,"

"Can't, or don't want to?"

 

Wasn't that a question.

He wanted. Fuck, he wanted. He was a piece of shit for the thoughts he sometimes had, those secret things he pushed down, undisclosed, pretended they'd never come up in his brain.

He tried to use the therapy trick of force-forgetting memories.

Peter changing out of his suit in the lab the first time he'd come around. The glance he'd cast to the tight white underwear the kid wore, the way it stretched across certain places in an obscene way.

Ignored the thought of buying Peter new underwear to rectify that problem.

Ignored the thought of what he'd look like without them on. What he'd look like _under_ him. What he'd look like-

 

"Mr. Stark?"

 

Tony realised the strength of his grip on Peter's wrist and quickly let go, brushing his hands down on his pant legs to rid invisible sweat.

"Peter, I _can't_."

He repeated. A plea really. _Please understand you're all I have. I can't deny you anything. Please don't push this because you don't know how easily I'll cave._

"But you can. You can do anything. You're _Iron Man,_ Tony."

"Tony?"

"Mhm. I figured a little equality in the titles would be good. Don't you think so?"

He was pressing. He was pressing and Tony was bending so easily. He'd take any shape Peter wanted him to. He just had to make sure Peter didn't know that. He'd ruin him.

Peter took one more step and then he was right there, chest pressing against his own, and that was his head, forehead nuzzling into Tony's ribcage.

Tony acted on impulse.

He hugged him.

 

Peter hugged back, bringing his arms up to wrap them around Tony's middle, squeezing tight with muscles that could do a lot more. He spread his hands out over the flat of his back, moving them up ever so gradually till they were over his shoulder blades, then down again. It was soft, gentle. Caressing.

"Pete,"

Tony felt his hands burning where they rested, arms laying over the boy's shoulders, hands touching barely any part of him.

He didn't even know himself what he wanted to say.

Peter stepped back to look at him, and the absence on his chest felt cold.

"Peter,"

His hands were in his hair, cradling his head. It was easier, now that Peter was just the right distance away. He didn't question why he was doing it, because Peter was humming, the tiniest sound of contentment, and his hands weren't so warm. He wasn't doing anything wrong.

He looked down, and Peter's eyes were glazed a little like he'd snatched the bottle of whiskey while Tony wasn't looking.

His lips were parted a little, head tilted up and gaze focused on Tony's face. Their eyes didn't meet. Because Peter was watching his mouth.

Tony could've cleared his throat. Stepped back. Took his fucking hands off the underage boy - but he didn't. He knew Peter was looking, and like a mirror, not knowing what the fuck he was doing, he let his own eyes dart down to the teen's lips.

He'd licked them recently - they were wet and shiny, mouth moving a little for his teeth to bite into his lower lip, like he was contemplating something.

Tony looked away. He felt his fingers twitch against Peter's scalp. He wanted to move them, pet him. Would that be friendly, or would that give him ideas?

 

Peter seemed to have made his mind up.

 

He'd seen the man watching him throughout the night. Watching him when he thought Peter was focusing on his textbook. He saw his eyes drift to his neck, to his arms, to his lips.

He'd seen, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

Peter reached up onto his toes - not having that far to go - and pressed his mouth against Tony's neck.

 

He felt the grip in his hair tighten.

"Peter," Tony warned, and Peter could feel the vibrations of the words against his tongue.

Peter pulled away, leaving a shiny, wet patch on the older man's skin.

 

"What are you doing, kid?"

Peter licked his lips, gathering excess spit. "Kissing you?"

Tony guffawed. Well, at least he wasn't pissed? Or maybe he was just deflecting.

"That's where you aim when you kiss, Pete? Might wanna practise that a little."

 

And fuck, why did he have to say that? Honestly, what the fuck?

But Peter just looked up at him, hopeful and eager and lips still shiny like he's wearing lipgloss and (don't imagine that don't imaging that)--

 

"Are you offering, Mr. Stark?"

 

Realistically, Tony could've done anything at that moment. But this was Peter. His boy. The one person he couldn't deny anything, asking something of him. Something he'd never admit he was willing to give.

So he opened his sin fucking mouth, and condemned himself.

 

"I think I might be."

 

His hands were still locked into the kid's hair when he surged up again, and this time the kiss landed. Tony's body reacted without permission at the feeling of a warm mouth on his own, pressing thousands of tiny kisses all at once. Cute, really.

Tony used the grip he had on the kid's head to tilt it back, using the little gasp he let out as an opportunity to let his tongue lick into the kid's mouth, warm and wet and tasting like strawberry chewing gum.

The kid kissed back enthusiastically, still trying to lead with an open mouth and tight lips.

He was sweet.

He tasted so, so sweet.

 

He felt the boy's smooth tongue against his own, and Tony felt himself slip. He was a goner, then and there.

 

A loud noise rang out from the table Peter was sitting at what felt like hours ago. A cell phone ringtone, the vibration pattern buzzing the phone across the glass.

Peter pulled away, eyes wide.

"Shit! I was meant to meet May at the Thai restaurant after Ned's! I said I was going there after school! Shit, Mr. Stark, I gotta go!" The boy explained hurriedly, rushing over to the table to snatch up his phone, putting it to his ear as he gathered up his textbooks.

The boy pulled his backpack onto his shoulders, mask somehow already on his face. He obviously planned on webbing home.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be right there, May, I'm on my way now. Yep - Just got caught up with, uh, Ned stuff. Y'know. Ok, larb you too." Peter rambled into the phone.

He looked up at Tony, eyes apologetic through the mask.

"I've...I've gotta go. Sorry." He said, and then he was darting out of the room toward the elevator.

 

Tony stood where he was, stunned to silence.

His mouth tasted like whiskey and strawberry.

 

Several moments later, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

The name that came up was P. Parker.

Below, the message read,

_"Thank you"_

 

Tony slipped the phone back into his pocket, eyeing the all-of-a-sudden empty room. The empty tumbler stared at him from it's place on the benchtop.

He thought about it for a moment, then picked it up, reached out for the bottle and poured himself two fingers.

He knocked it back in one swig, and with it, the taste of the teenager's saliva still covering his lips.

 

 


End file.
